


Over The Fields

by Kohaku1977



Category: War Horse (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kohaku1977/pseuds/Kohaku1977
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had first met on a fox hunt during the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Fields

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kate_Swynford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Swynford/gifts).



They had first met on a fox hunt during the holidays. Jim had been keeping behind, riding slower than was usual for him when Jamie passed him to his left, sitting tall and light in his saddle, gaze forward but not towards the leader of the field as anyone else. He purposefully kept slightly to the left, leaving the path through the woods in favour for the trees. Jim found himself following, curious and enthralled by their surroundings and the stillness of a snow-covered forest, the oddity of someone in a red coat riding that far from the field as if on his own agenda. The ruckus of the field of hunters was quieting down with every step of their horses, and the excited barking of the beagles faded into the distance until the creaking of the trees around them was more pronounced.

At first, Jim had kept his distance, but had stayed well in view of Jamie, but when he had taken a small detour over a frozen brook, carefully guiding his horse instead of risking a jump, he looked up to find the other rider gone. 

He stopped, confused, for a moment thinking he was lost, until there was a flurry of commotion to his left, and the other rider appeared, breaking through the undergrowth and eyeing him curiously albeit with a slightly raised chin. He must have had drawn a half circle to come up from behind, Jim realised not without admiration.

“Very questionable behaviour, to follow a stranger like that without introducing oneself. Not very polite, is it.”

Jim felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He was certain his ears would redden, as they were prone to. He ducked his head, and tipped his hat, moving his horse so they would stand side by side, their horses head to tail. He held out his hand and the other rider placed his riding crop under his left arm to shake it briefly.

“I apologise. James Nicholls.”

“Jamie Stewart,” the other man said, nodding curtly. He looked into the distance, squinting as if in thought, and then looked at Jim again as if to assess him.

“Not much of a hunter either, I take it?” he questioned.

Jim shook his head. Uneasy, he pretended to watch the snow fall, and blinked into the darkening sky. 

“Ah, the curious pull of peer pressure,” Jamie remarked and reached into the inner pocket of his riding jacket to produce a slim silver case. He shook out a cigarette.

“Smoke?”  
“No, Sir.”

“Very well then,” Jamie lit his cigarette and took a drag, curling his hand around it to shield it from the winter wind, “We should have a brandy later.”

Jim found himself wholeheartedly agreeing and not only because of the cold that was slowly seeping through the layers. 

 

Over their brandies they decided to be on a first name basis, and Jamie swiftly took up Jim’s request of calling him Jim instead of his full name. Well warmed by this, Jim comfortably let down his reserve and soon they chatted about music, literature and their respective colleges. 

After they had pushed their chairs closer together in a corner and had monopolised the record player, Jamie pulled out his cigarettes again, offering out of manners even though he seemed to expect the shake of head he received. Jim smiled at the gesture, pouring himself more brandy instead. As soon as the smoke was curling up to the ceiling, with their ties loosened and there jackets hung over their chairs, they found themselves in comfortable silence. When Jamie straightened his red coat and smoothed it over the arm of his chair, he caught Jim staring and winked.

Jim was unsure as to why this particular memory surfaced just then in the fields of France in the autumn. Maybe it was the chill night air that reminded him of that winter and their time spent by the fire place, or the wistful nostalgia for Christmases past, when it very well seemed as if they would not be home for this year's season. No matter what the men said, their boasting seemed unlikely and hollow to Jim's ears, and a quick victory regrettably far.

He had seen the wounded upon coming ashore, some crippled and all waiting to be shipped home. He had seen the loss, not only of limbs but just as severe, and from that moment, he had been shaken to the core, barely able to hold back the tear that prickled in his eyes. He had had to look away, and after they had mounted their horses and had been on their short way to the camp, Jim had found himself looking at Jamie, almost worried that one might see the fear in his eyes, but Jamie had sat as tense himself as Jim had ever seen him.

The camp they had been sent to was set up in a small village, as picturesque as one could imagine, with small stone houses set in well tended gardens, ripe apples on crooked trees, and flowers in abundance. The war seemed far away here where there was bird song instead of battle noise. 

Jim and Jamie had dismounted and walked side by side, both holding the reigns of their horses, while Topthorn and Joey followed. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jamie said, shaking Jim from his reverie. 

Jim laughed. “I'd rather not.”

“You seemed miles away. What were you thinking about?”  
“To be honest? You in your red hunting coat.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows. 

“That was years ago, old boy.”

He sounded wistful at that and squinted, whether in remembrance or for another thought, Jim did not know. Jamie looked at him then and smiled like he did on that first day they had met: carefree and comfortable, as if time and place aligned just as he had expected. 

“Jamie,” Jim started.

“None of that now. Let's meet in our quarters later. There might even be a brandy.”  
“If it were not for the uniforms, one might think we'd be on holiday.”

Jamie stopped and stared at Jim.

“What in God's name...”

“Forget it,” Jim said quickly. “Stables ahead. I want to see that Joey gets his fair share of grub today. Who knows for how long there will be plenty.”

 

Jamie sat on the small bed in his room, playing with his cigarette case without opening it, merely turning it in his hands but stopping when he saw Jim lingering in the doorway. The room was white washed like his own, and merely housed a cot, a modest desk, a wooden chair. Jamie had unpacked the necessities, just like Jim had done before he had come over. Next to the washing basin lay Jamie's shaving brush and soap, a slim volume lay on the pillow as if thrown there. 

“I see you got the bigger room,” Jim joked.

“I always book the suite in advance to avoid disappointment,” Jamie answered briskly enough for anyone to believe he was serious had he not known him for as long as Jim did.

Jim laughed and let himself fall onto the bed next to Jamie. 

“You know, seeing that this might very well be the last bed you will sleep in, it is rather lumpy. You should have inquired about that as well.”

“Jim.” Jamie stood up, regarding Jim with an inscrutable expression, his mouth set in a line. 

“You are the only person besides my mother that can fill those three letters with so much disdain.”

“It is not disdain,” Jamie said sharply, his expression softening upon Jim's surprise. “It is really not.”

“I did not mean it that way, dearest Jamie. You know that.”

Jim looked up at Jamie who stood tall as ever but still wore this puzzled expression.

“You said there would be brandy?” Jim tried, desperate to disperse the tense air.

“Of course there is,” Jamie said.

Jamie had brought two glasses as well as a bottle of brandy, and after their second glass, they sat notably more relaxed. Jim's heart ached at the thought that they would soon have to leave the normality behind; he always felt most at home sitting with Jamie like this. Even in France, in this small constricting room he felt enough at ease to shove away the thoughts about the war for several heartbeats. The comment that had slipped from his lips earlier so carelessly still rang true with him, albeit tinged with guilt and regret. Even with the turmoil of war raging and roaring in the distance, the gun fire and the thunder of horses and men, this particular spot seemed whole as if untouched by the world and their murderous intent. It was tempting to breathe in the evening air and wistfully recall times past instead of prepare for an unknown future. Jim thought of the snow covered woods, the trees so dark they seemed black at the bottom of their trunks, but their upper two thirds almost orange in the grey December air. The sun weak and low, the fog rising and getting caught in the branches. And Jamie, as if painted, his coat pristine and his boots shining.

He reached over and took Jamie's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. 

“Dearest Jamie,” he said.

Jamie looked at their intertwined hands.

“You are afraid, aren't you?”

They had both seen the wounded, and soon they themselves would ride out. Whenever Jim closed his eyes, the bandaged and broken seemed to have Jamie's eyes and noble face. He was not afraid for himself and therefore glad Jamie had asked bluntly but not specifically. 

“How can I not be?”

“Yes,” Jamie said and for a moment, Jim worried he might be lectured, but then Jamie merely breathed out and tightened his hold on Jim's hand. “Yes.”

“I am not so much worried for myself,” Jim slowly said, the confession more difficult than he had imagined, but at the same time, he was glad to hear the words out loud. 

“Don't be mad,” Jamie shushed him.

“I wanted to tell you, in case...”  
“None of that! I will have none of that!”  
“But there is the chance that...”

“I will not allow it,” Jamie said, his chin raised and his eyebrows knitted stubbornly. “I will not have this kind of talk. We will ride side by side as always. And if I have to worry on your account, I will.”

He held fast onto Jim's hand. 

The day they finally had to ride out, they met at the stables to get their horses ready according to the requirements given at the briefing in the morning. Jim nodded curtly, as other soldiers were preparing as well, but Jamie came over until they stood closely, shoulder to shoulder, as if looking at Topthorn. He took Jim's hand in his own and stroked the back of it with his thumb before interlacing their fingers again.

“I will not allow it,” he said quietly. 

“I will be at your side as always,” Jim agreed, feeling his eyes prickle with emotion and therefore stubbornly staring ahead.

And when they were finally riding side by side though the fields of France, the familiarity was enough to make him feel like it was a promise he could keep.


End file.
